of glass tinkered to the floor. “Son of a bitch,” he snarled, scrambling behind another cabinet and reeling off a burst of gunfire from his Sin Eater.
Kane’s bullets cleaved the air all around the Millennial Consortium guard, but the man rolled behind another cabinet, this one containing a carved stone wing from some long-forgotten statue.
“Kane,” Grant called from his own hiding place. When Kane looked, Grant was nodding toward the doorway. “More company.”
Kane glanced up and saw more millennialist guards rushing through the open doorway. Grant and Brigid peppered the doorway with a sustained burst, and one of the newcomers fell to the floor amid a spray of blood as his companions rushed to find cover.
“There’s no way we can get up top while they’re here,” Brigid said over the Commtact, her voice sounding frantic. “Any ideas?”
Kane’s eyes narrowed as he assessed the scene before him. They were trapped in a room full of pointless crap as a dozen armed men closed in on them. Reluctantly, he engaged his Commtact’s microphone. “I guess we play a game of Last Man Standing,” he growled.
Chapter 7
Sin Eater in hand, Kane backed up against a glass cabinet displaying nothing more than one lone bullet, its silver casing ringed with a single line of gold like a wedding band—a marriage of violence.
All around the brightly lit storage room, a dozen foot soldiers of the Millennial Consortium were finding their own cover as they hemmed in Kane and his companions. Both Grant and Brigid were somewhere off to Kane’s right, closer to the ladderlike shelves than he was, but neither they nor he could get out of the room without moving out into the open and risking execution.
As Kane tried to track all the enemies in his mind’s eye, his Commtact burst to life once more. It was Grant.
“Not that I’m complaining,” Grant said, “but we’re outnumbered here, partner.”
“I noticed,” Kane sourly acknowledged. “Looks like they had reinforcements tucked away.”
“These see-through cabinets are no cover at all,” Brigid added over the hidden Commtact unit.
“What are you suggesting?” Kane asked, his eyes fixed on the sentry who had grabbed Brigid. The man was busy reloading his Calico subgun. Kane saw now that the sentry had entered via a smaller chamber set to the rear of the trophy room. They had to have walked straight past the inset door when they had originally entered the complex.
“A bloodbath might not be our best avenue of attack,” Brigid mused.
“Ever the diplomat, Baptiste,” Kane growled in response, but under the circumstances he tended to agree.
Though Kane had absorbed Brigid’s words, his mind was focused on the guard by the cabinet containing the stone wing. The man had already shown himself to be dangerous, with a quick temper and an itchy trigger finger. What’s more, he was deadly fast—a lethal combination to face in any armed man. Worse yet, Kane thought as he peered at the spent shells at his feet, the lunatic was using wadcutters, nasty, flat-nosed rounds that did more and bloodier damage than a standard bullet. Any of Kane’s crew hit by one of those, even a glancing blow, would likely be incapacitated if not outright killed. The carved throne at Kane’s back had great rents across its upright section now, and thick wooden splinters carpeted the floor around the busted display case where the wadcutters had torn the arcane piece of furniture apart. With fortune on his side, a man could take a bullet and remain standing; wadcutters just ripped apart anything they made contact with, and could easily go straight through the shadow suits the Cerberus team wore.
Kane turned his mind back to the conversation of strategy. “I’m gonna go make friends,” he stated over the Commtact.
HIS SUBGUN RELOADED, the guard with the wadcutter bullets inched around the cabinet, the light glinting from his shattered goggle lens. Holding it solidly by its twin-handled grip, the man poked the Calico’s long muzzle in Kane’s direction, his cheek burning from the bullet his goggles had deflected.
RELUCTANTLY, KANE sent the Sin Eater back to its hiding place in his wrist sheath and stood to his full height, hands held in the air above him. “Salutations, millennial guys. Wonder if we can—” he began.
The itchy-triggered guard in the furs didn’t wait for the rest. His finger pressed down on the firing stud of the Calico, blasting a round of wadcutters across the brightly lit room. Kane dived for cover as the formidable stream of hot lead cut through the air toward him.
Across from Kane, Grant located the assailant, placed the firing millennialist in his sights and returned fire, bullets spitting from the nose of his Sin Eater. Lightning quick, the millennialist ducked back behind cabinet cover as a dozen high-density, 9 mm bullets raced at him. Grant’s leading bullet slammed through the front pane of the cabinet, shattering the glass and drilling into the worn stone wing that rested within. The bullet’s lethal siblings followed a split second after, peppering the mossy surface of that strange hunk of masonry.
Paris, France, September 3, 1928
ONLY THE KEENEST of eyes would have noticed, but then Abraham Flag did have the keenest of eyes. One of the grotesque gargoyles that was perched atop the medieval church was not quite as worn, as decayed and moss-covered, as its companions. It was a well-disguised replica, but Flag could tell instantly that it was newly crafted. So, where was the original that this imperfect impostor had replaced? And why had someone gone to so much trouble to cover up the switch? Flag’s formidable mind was immediately intrigued.
However, before Flag could even begin to process this information, a dark shadow loomed overhead and suddenly swooped down toward him. Flag dived for cover behind the nearest gravestone, and whatever had attacked flew back up into the gray sky, but not before Flag had glimpsed it.
Now Flag knew why there was a new stone gargoyle watching over the tower—because the old one was no longer made of stone. Gargoyles were meant to watch over, guard and protect their church from evil spirits and so this rogue had to be stopped, and fast. Professor Flag had been in many tricky, even dangerous, situations, but this was unlike any other he had encountered. It would take all his skill to put this right.
There was not much time to think, as the demonic creature dived at him again. This time Flag didn’t get out of the way, but instead stood his ground. His bravery seemed to confuse the gargoyle, and it pulled itself up short directly in front of Flag. They were now face to evil face. Flag’s mind was in motion, drawing quickly to the surface everything he knew about gargoyles and medieval beliefs.
Flag recalled a popular prayer from medieval times, for protection against evil. It was a prayer to Saint Michael the Archangel. Well, he certainly needed protection from evil now, and he had nothing to lose. Without ever taking his eyes off the hovering gargoyle, Flag began to recite:
“As smoke vanisheth, so let them vanish away: as wax melteth before the fire, so let the wicked perish at the Presence of God. Judge Thou, O’Lord, them that wrong me: overthrow them that fight against me.”
Instantly, in midflight, the live gargoyle turned back into stone and came crashing down to the ground. As Flag leaped out of the way of that falling chunk of lifeless masonry, his fierce eyes spotted a motionless figure watching from high up in the bell tower—a human figure. As their eyes met, Flag heard the flapping of leathery wings, felt the coldness of a shadow from overhead as another stone demon bore down upon him….
